


This Is Not A Dream

by bronze-eight-pounder (sadsparties)



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Surprise Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 01:02:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadsparties/pseuds/bronze-eight-pounder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He was dumbstruck. Never had he been made to come so casually. So nonchalantly. So offhandedly! It was a blow to his self-worth, and as much as he admitted to enjoying the experience, his pride was on the line. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is Not A Dream

**Author's Note:**

> This is author's first time writing explicit. Feedback most welcome.

The door creaked with its un-oiled hinges as Enjolras whirled it close with the heel of his boot. It produced a somber thud as it met the doorway, and, had Enjolras been exercising a bit more tact, would have sounded less loudly. But Enjolras couldn’t care for tact. His day had passed with a series of setbacks brought on by major groups refusing access to their arms. The sudden decrease in weapon count was a blow to their plans, and though Enjolras was not one to linger, his stone surface was not immune to certain chips in the marble. His head was bowed when he entered their apartment, and when the door closed with a force that rocked the rest of the hall, he no longer glanced back. He made a beeline for the bed, boots treading heavily on the floorboards, and he would have ignored the open window sending in icy wind had he not caught sight of the being currently lying on the sofa, the sight of whom, caused Enjolras’s weariness to dissipate in a matter of seconds.

Combeferre’s day had also been long, but lacking Enjolras’s stamina, he had barely survived treading the few steps to their bedroom and instead collapsed outright on the settee. He had only enough time to remove his glasses and lay it on the floor before succumbing to sleep entirely. He lay there at his side with his head cradled on a folded arm. His cravat loose, his waistcoat unbuttoned, his lips pulled apart slightly: it was a welcome sight. 

All trace of tiredness removed, Enjolras strode towards Combeferre and paused to stand before him. After determining that Combeferre was indeed asleep, he relieved himself of both coat and hat and moved to share the settee. An observer uninitiated to their ways would have noticed that this particular position was something they engaged in often, for as soon as Enjolras’s tresses pressed themselves against Combeferre’s nose, the sleeper immediately wove his arms around Enjolras to join his hands across his stomach. Enjolras leaned eagerly against Combeferre, and with the sight of red daylight dropping steadily on the window, he contemplated sleeping in and skipping dinner entirely. Enjolras closed his eyes and attempted to doze.

Suffice it to say that he very nearly succeeded in his attempt. Only that at the exact moment that his mind began to retreat into slumber, Combeferre moved. More precisely, his hand moved. He spread his fingers and rubbed his hand across Enjolras’s belly. He pressed himself closer and let out a breath that warmed the back of Enjolras’s neck, the double sensation bringing a smile to Enjolras’s lips. Enjolras produced an amused chuckle but sought to sleep once more. He kept his eyes closed; his hands nestled safely under his head; but when Combeferre’s hand moved further down to rub his crotch through his trousers, the resulting tightness in his belly completely removed all chances of sleep.

Enjolras’s eyes shot open. “Combeferre?” he asked, uncertain, eager, and intrigued at the same time. Combeferre’s palm pressed against the rough cloth surrounding his crotch. He stroked slowly and steadily. Up and down he went, kneading the cloth with the heel of his palm and establishing a rhythm. The building pleasure sent Enjolras’s toes to curl and his knees to fold. His breathing became uneven. His hips bucked in time. His breath came out in frantic sighs of delight. Enjolras turned to face Combeferre, but he found himself locked in place by the strong arms around his waist. He could do nothing but yelp when Combeferre tugged his shirt up violently. He deftly opened the buttons of his trousers, the buttons of his drawers, and before comprehension could fully dawn on Enjolras, a hand had circled his bulging erection.

Enjolras groaned. He let out a string of words, but whether it was a question or a name called out in near-ecstasy, one could not be certain. Mindless rubbing turned into deliberate stroking. Combeferre flicked a thumb, once, twice, three times over the tip of Enjolras’s cock, each time causing Enjolras to twitch. Combeferre took him; his hand stroked the length of Enjolras’s cock; his tongue traced marks along Enjolras’s neck; his heat enveloped Enjolras in a fully cast trap. Enjolras was powerless as Combeferre stroked harder, faster. A hand cradled his testicles, another bobbed up and down his cock, from the base of his length to the tip, flicking and sometimes grazing with his nail, varying the tightness of his hold as he went along. Enjolras felt his hips rock forward in time with Combeferre’s thrusts. He was gasping; he was moaning; he came. 

His hips bucked forward as his body convulsed with great joy. Enjolras thought: the armaments, the potential allies, nothing mattered apart from that moment. Nothing else existed but Combeferre’s body against his back, his hand catching his seed and spreading it along his length, his breath at his cheeks. There was only him and Combeferre, them and this settee that was their life raft on a sea of nothing else.

Enjolras rode out the last of his climax. In between breaths for air, he smiled. He smiled the lazy, indulgent smile of one who was infinitely happy. His chest heaved, and he could feel the quick pounding of his heart on the pulse at his neck. He began to relax. He was still smiling when he turned over to Combeferre to return the favor –

– and found him sound asleep.

To say that Enjolras was in shock would be an injustice. His confusion, and later on, indignation cut off every trace of happiness that he had felt a moment prior. There was no other explanation for it. Enjolras and Combeferre had made love so many times, in so many different ways, often at the end of a harrowing day, that Combeferre had stroked him unconsciously. Be it by force of habit or muscle memory, Combeferre had given him a hand job in his sleep. And had brought him to climax without any knowledge of it.

Enjolras wished to express his distaste, but no word escaped from his mouth. He was dumbstruck. Never had he been made to come so casually. So nonchalantly. So offhandedly! It was a blow to his self-worth, and as much as he admitted to enjoying the experience, his pride was on the line. A glassy haze formed in his eyes. Enjolras had always been resolute, even when surrounded by those who would doubt, and in that moment, he had never been more sure of a course of action. He was filled with purpose, anger, determination, and along with these emotions came a thick and powerful arousal.

Had Combeferre been awake and seen the gaze boring through him, he would have shuddered. Enjolras looked upon him with steely detachment. His chin tilted up, his eyelids fluttering low, his lips curled in what resembled a snarl, Enjolras was ready to devour. He wasted no time in doing so. Enjolras moved, with a haste only known to cocking the barrel of a gun in the midst of a battlefield, to relieve Combeferre of his trousers; for it was indeed a battlefield, in which Combeferre had drawn first blood and Enjolras was determined to win. He tugged boot, trousers and drawers loose, the motion almost waking Combeferre from his slumber. Combeferre released a sleepy hum as he lay on his back to stretch. His hand, still wet with Enjolras's seed, went to his belly and gave it a reassuring pat. A satisfied smile tugged at his lips. This only served to inflame Enjolras's resolution.

With a mewl of annoyance, Enjolras kicked away his own soiled drawers and straddled Combeferre. Both were now fully naked from below, and he was careful not to let his erection touch anything for fear of coming on the spot. Instead, he braced himself on his arms and planted both palms at Combeferre's sides. Enjolras inhaled a long breath, counted – one, two, three – and dug his fingers angrily at Combeferre's ribs. 

Had the tickle not woken him, the pain in his head would have done so immediately, for as Enjolras attacked his sides, Combeferre’s head shot out and hit the wooden armrest. Combeferre let out a yelp as he cradled the forming bump at the back of his head. He vaguely remembered having a good dream, but the pain kept him from recalling the details. Sleep, wake, pain: the shift of sensations caused to ceiling to swirl, but what really sent Combeferre reeling was the slick and cold feeling between his legs.

That and the sight of Enjolras sucking his cock.

Enjolras let his tongue trail Combeferre’s length. Much as Combeferre's hand did to his own, he gave three quick kisses to the tip of Combeferre’s penis. His lips smacked against the tip, his tongue darting forward for a lick before fully parting. Both his hands gripped Combeferre at the base, two thumbs running up and down in a steady rhythm. Enjolras felt Combeferre wake. He titled his head to look, and they locked eyes as he gave one last lick along Combeferre’s length before taking him in entirely.

Combeferre was sure that it was a dream. For one thing, it was more likely that Enjolras was on the receiving end of this treatment than he was. That had been their way since they both collapsed in exhaustion on the same bed, their hands and lips suddenly taking to touching in the dead of the night. For another, Enjolras rarely took him by surprise, not so aggressively, not when it came to matters of the bed, and the current situation was of another plane entirely. Combeferre was almost definite that it was a dream, but he was not one to deprive himself of dreamy pleasures. Unknowingly, his hips had begun to thrust in time. 

Combeferre wished to lean his head back and enjoy the sensation, but he could not bring himself to look away. He grabbed a handful of Enjolras’s hair and watched his wrists bob up and down in time with Enjolras’s attentions. The sight of him, golden-haired and glistening with the sweat, bent over him, serving him -- the thought alone could have made him come. He bucked his hips instead, downward for fear of choking Enjolras, while his feet involuntarily kicked. Enjolras noticed that Combeferre was nearing climax, and in a fit of cruelty, he removed his mouth from Combeferre’s cock. This resulted in a groan of desperation, but instead Enjolras pressed Combeferre’s penis against his cheek. Combeferre had been ready for the warm grip of hands or the wet slick of tongue, but he was completely unprepared for the smoothness of Enjolras’s cheek. It was a different sensation entirely, and he reveled in it. Enjolras closed his eyes and seemed to be lost in another world as he rubbed Combeferre’s cock against his face: his chin, his cheeks, his nose. He was oblivious to Combeferre’s increasingly frantic cries. Combeferre opened his legs wider and bent his knees to better thrust his hips upward. He badly needed to finish, but his attempt at support buckled when Enjolras began releasing hot breaths on the tip of his cock. Combeferre bent his head and looked at him with wide-eyed pleas. Enjolras locked his eyes with Combeferre’s as he touched the edge of his open lips to Combeferre’s tip. He exhaled. Combeferre could only exhale in turn. 

Before Combeferre could finish moaning, Enjolras rose and took his lips for himself. What followed was another battle, this time of impatient tongues and urgent lips. Combeferre wanted answers – how could a dream be so vivid, when did Enjolras learn how to suck so splendidly – but in his mind, Combeferre knew that nothing else was of prime importance than Enjolras’s breath on his mouth. His hands buried themselves on Enjolras's hair and neck. Enjolras broke away to plant a quick smooch at Combeferre’s eyelids – he laughed – at Combeferre’s forehead – they laughed – at the tip of his nose and his chin. Their shaking bodies caused their cocks to further stir. As they kissed their hips thrust against each other, cocks pressing against each other, losing themselves in the feeling of being lost in a being so in tune with themselves. Their settee in the sea held their bodies as they thrust in time with the waves. Their mouths clashed like sea foam on rocks.

Enjolras was nearing his peak once again. He broke the kiss and placed his forehead to Combeferre’s. He wanted Combeferre to see, to look at him and only him as they rode out the rest of the night. His palms cradled the sides of Combeferre’s face and covered them with his own. Their pace quickened; Enjolras thrusting himself between Combeferre’s thighs, Combeferre rubbing his cock unto Enjolras’s belly. The floorboards quaked. They moaned into each other's mouths. They inhaled each other’s breaths. Enjolras made a final thrust as his body trembled. Combeferre took hold of his waist before he could collapse. Enjolras came, breaking eye contact with Combeferre at the last second to indulge himself in a look of wanton ecstasy. The sight alone sent Combeferre over the edge, and he too submitted himself to heavy release.

When their shudders had subsided, Enjolras collapsed on top of Combeferre. He tucked his chin on Combeferre’s clavicles and attempted to breathe properly. He wriggled his arms under Combeferre’s back to press their bodies together. “Dinner?” he asked. Beneath him, Combeferre stared at the ceiling and was only beginning to realize the truth. At his silence, Enjolras tilted his head up to look. “This,” he said as he absently rubbed Enjolras’s back, “this is definitely not a dream”. 

Enjolras laughed heartily in his ear.


End file.
